Ignorance Is Bliss
by The Duchess Of The Dark
Summary: Companion piece to 'Prelude', 'Fugue' & 'Lucidity'. Monologue thoughts of Helena Draven, her memories, her relationship with Logan & the X-Men.
1. Helena's Perspective

Title: 

Title: Ignorance Is Bliss  
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Companion piece set after 'Lucidity: Renescence'. First person monolgue.

Rating: PG 13 for language.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Marvel Comics Inc. Helena Draven is mine.

Genre: General. For more fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: This is a companion piece to the X-Men trilogy comprising of 'Prelude: A Canadian Tale', 'Fugue: X-Men' & 'Lucidity: Renescence'. Read those, or you won't know who Helena Draven is, or the relationships between various characters!

*

Let me tell you a little something. I'm not a lady. I'm not regal and exotic like Storm, or a beautiful come-hither eyed scientific genius like Jean Grey. I don't have shocking white hair or a propensity to be so perfect it sets my teeth on edge. Don't misunderstand me, I like and respect 'Ro and Jean, but they're in a different league to me. Storm was worshipped as a goddess back in Africa, while Jean was a cheerleader, which is almost a minor deity in its own right. I was a thin, freckled, bullied kid whose only distinguishing feature was to be classed as 'weird'. At least, I think that's what I was. The thing is, I don't really know… My memories aren't exactly gospel reliable, if you catch my drift.

I'm a mutant. And not just any mutant, as you know. This school is full of kids, and adults, who can do amazing things. Cyke shoots concussive beams from his eyes, Remy makes things explode, though I think his real gift is to get into the knickers of anything vaguely female. He still tries it on with me, when he knows Logan is out the way. Logan would rip his arms off and beat him over the head with the soggy end if he caught the Cajun so much as winking at me, which is quite funny, really. Well, I think it's funny, anyway. Marie doesn't, and one of these days I'm afraid I'm going to have to beat the living shit out of Gambit, when he hurts her. 

It's an inevitability he will, he's just that kind of lad. Remy and I have an understanding; I told him when he started seeing Marie that if he hurt her, I'd kill him. Just to emphasise the point, pun intended, I popped one of my claws and stroked the tip of my nose with it. D'you know how many shades of white a person can turn? A lot, believe me. As I said before – I'm not a lady. I dress like a cross between something from those nineteen nineties films 'The Matrix' and 'The Crow'. I swear too much, drink far more than is healthy and have an annoying tendency towards unpredictable temper outbursts. I'd like to say the drinking is something I picked up from Wolvie, bless his cotton socks, but I've a feeling I've always liked my vodka. Oh… don't let him hear me refer to him as Wolvie – he'll get in a pet and I'll have to drag him off to the Danger Room for a damn good thrashing. Well, on second thoughts, mention it. He could do with reminding he's not the only one with an attitude and claws around here. Besides, he always gets… how do I put this politely… _affectionate_ right after a good fight session.

The claws. Hmmmmmm. You see these? Quite beautiful, in a certain kinda light, aren't they? I think it's the metal. They're bone under there, y'know. I absorbed the adamantium from Wolverine… but that's another story. We're alike, me and him. Both got the old healing factor, enhanced senses and the integral set of cutlery. Unfortunately, we've both got the feral temper and instincts that goes with it, only I'm not quite so short-fused as he is. He gets into rages, goes off like a popped cork and reverts into this snarling, berzerk _thing_. It's scary. Oddly enough, when he does get like that, I'm the only one who he listens to. Maybe it's the whole alpha male and female gig, some part of him recognises my scent, knows I'm the only one he can really trust. I don't know. Psychology is the Prof's forte, not mine. 

The feral rage is all to do with control. Saying Logan has a temper problem is like saying Hiroshima was a firework display. Not only have I got gifts like his, I'm TP, TK too…. plus several nasty surprises courtesy of the British government. Don't think I'm boasting, 'cos I'm not – I'd much rather have not had my mutancy tampered with, thank you very much. How powerful am I? Interesting question. Let's just say I'm more powerful than Jean and less powerful than Xavier when it comes to telepathy. As for my telekinesis, I'm not sure. The heaviest thing I've lifted to date was the Blackbird jet, but that was under extreme circumstances. Had my head messed with a while back, along with my X-gene. My memories are fucked up good style, though not to the same extent as Logan's – he can only remember back about eighteen years. 

But I'm flying off at a tangent, as I'm prone to do. I was talking about control. People think it would be fantastic to be able to read people's minds, to move things without touching them. It's no barrel of laughs. You have to be in total control twenty four seven. Let your guard slip and you can hear the thoughts of everyone within the range of your gift – imagine a stadium full of people all talking, laughing, crying, arguing and singing all at once. God knows what it's like for the Prof – his natural radius is almost a hundred miles, and with Cerebro, the sky's the limit. You wanna know what uncontrolled TP or TK can do? Ask Rogue. She's aborbed my gifts on a few occasions. Each time she's said "Hels, ah love ya like a sister, but ah don't _evah_ wanna get what's inside ya head again.". But I think that may have as much to do with memories I can't access as anything else.

Memory is a touchy subject with me and Wolvie. We've both got dogtags from some damned army installation up in the Canadian Rockies. What they did to mutants there doesn't bear thinking about. They surgically bolted adamantium to Logan's skeleton and completely fucked up his memory in the process, apart from the nightmares. We both get the nightmares. I don't know what they did to me. In fact, I don't know who did what, except somebody somewhere increased my physical strength and messed with my memories. I used to belong to a covert MI5 division that modified mutants' powers and used them for all the dirtiest jobs going – that's how I ended up strapped to a surgical table at Alkali Lake. 

That particular nightmare is a favourite with the audience – the whole bloody mansion knows when I'm having it, not to mention Logan, who invariably ends up with an elbow in his gut, or worse. We're active bedfellows, the pair of us, and it's probably just as well we're together, as nobody else would put up with having their sleep disturbed so often. So I was an MI5 kite, or so the evidence would have us believe. Microdisks, implants, cryptic mutterings from government agents who owe Xavier favours, that kind of thing. 

Truth is, I don't really want to know. Yeah, in principle I'd love to know how many years I spent playing the good, patriotic little mutie bint, running errands for the British government. I'd also like to know who did what to Logan and I at Alkali Lake, if only so we can hunt the bastards down and kill them slowly. But I've this horrible feeling, no more than a feeling, a _certainty_ that we've done terrible things. Unforgivable things. These claws, as Logan says, weren't made for pruning hedges. The only inkling I've got of my real past is a five minute section of shitty video tape showing me breaking into a secure facility. 

I gutted every last black ops soldier in the place, running about covered in blood and camouflage paint like Xena on speed. I'm no coward, and much as I hate to admit it, I've got the killer instinct, but there's justifiable killing and there's murder. The whole mess is a web of deceit, false memories, shadowy conspiracies and a blatant disregard for precious life. It gives me stomach ache just thinking about it. So excuse me if I'm not a lovely techno-wizard like Jean who gets to address Congress, or an earth mother like Storm. 

I can do a lot of stuff, from teaching English lit to rowdy teenagers, to tracking an enemy over rough terrain for fifty miles via a week old scent trail. But I can't trust my own memories. I've made a lot of new ones these past few years, with Logan and then the X-Men, but sometimes I'd rather not know what happened before that. I suppose I'm scared – though if you repeat that, you and I will have words, sunshine. I'm scared if I remember, or if Logan remembers, everything we have will be destroyed. I won't ever stop any investigations – the Prof probes our minds as often as we allow him, but as far as the past goes, ignorance is bliss.

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



	2. Logan's Perspective

Title: Ignorance Is Bliss (chapter 2)

Title: Ignorance Is Bliss (chapter 2)  
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Companion piece set after 'Lucidity: Renascence'. First person monologue.

Rating: PG 13 for language.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to Marvel Comics Inc. Helena Draven is mine.

Genre: General. For more fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: This is a companion piece to the X-Men trilogy comprising of 'Prelude: A Canadian Tale', 'Fugue: X-Men' & 'Lucidity: Renascence'. Read those, or you won't know who Helena Draven is, or the relationships between various characters! This second chapter is from Logan's perspective.

*

Sometimes, I don't know why the hell I stay here at Mutant High. It's a school. It's got rules, regulations and damn authority figures coming out of its ears. I'm not good with authority, ask Hels, she'll tell you. Come to think of it, she ain't much good with authority either. I can see her biting her tongue when Scooter snaps out his orders sometimes. Me, I'd just punch him in the mouth and be done with it. I've been tempted a helluva lot of times. He struts about with his pretty boy haircut and designer clothes, playing Fearless Leader. Urgh. One thing about Cyke, though, he cares about his team, would never let us down. That's the only good thing about him. I used to hate him 'cos he's got Red… just thinking about him getting cosy with her every night made me wanna slice his ass into baloney. Now, I ain't so sure – I just don't see Jeannie that way anymore. Sure, she's hot, but she ain't Hels… What the hell you grinning at, bub?! Think it might be his cologne. I can smell the anally-retentive fuck coming a mile away. 

And don't you sit there thinking I'm going soft. I mightn't be so rough around the edges these days, but I've still got it. Hels knows it, but she doesn't try to change me. We both learnt the hard way back in Canada that we're never gonna iron out each other's creases. Fought a lot, like cat and dog, or mebbe 'alpha male and female' as Chuck once labelled us. We still like a damn good fight, to get the juices going. Stops us losing our edge. Though since Hels and me took up living together, it's in the Danger, rather than bar, room. Saves Wheels having to bail me out. Always seem to be me who gets caught by the cops. Hels just turns on the TP along with the charm and gets away with it. Let me tell you, the faces on the kids, or Scooter when the pair of us tramp through the school, clothes torn, sometimes trailing blood behind us – it's priceless. They don't understand. They ain't got the instinct like us. 

As far as muties go, we ain't that special. It's not like we control the weather like 'Ro, who is a woman and a half, or blow things up like Gumbo. Nah, even with Hels being a natural born multiple – kinda a swiss army knife of gifts – we've not got spectacular powers. The only thing that makes us different is these… some fuckers strapped me down and coated my skeleton with this shit. Chuck figures they're bone under there, like Hels are. I'm guessing from your expression you've heard this from her already – she told you how both our memories are fucked up good? Yeah, well, whatever they did to us, it's the reason she absorbed my adamantium and we ended up with matching sets of steak knives. Cute, huh?

We don't talk about it much, usually only when something new turns up – like those videotapes from Alkali Lake showing Hels on the rampage. She won't admit it, but that shook her up plenty. I think she talks to Chuck though. She'll talk to anyone, natter away about teenage crap with Marie and her friends, talk shop with Jean, have a bottle of wine or three with 'Ro – you ever seen a drunk goddess? But she there's certain things she won't talk about. You know when her face changes like that, when she gets kinda icy, that you'd best shut the hell up. The Cajun learnt that the hard way… I know that boy would try to get into her pants if I drop the ball. If he tries it, I'll gut him and make beef jerky outta his ass. Same thing goes if he hurts my Marie. 

Other than that, he's an okay guy. I like him better than Boy Scout. If it wasn't for him, Hels would be six feet under. You ain't heard that story? Yeah, well, whaddaya say I give you the short version? Sabretooth jumps her in the park down in Salem Centre, kills some guy who used to teach here, grabs hold of Marie and forces her to make skin-to-skin contact with Hels. Damn nearly killed her. Remy kept her heart going until we got there, so I owe him. But not as much as I owe Victor fucking Creed. He's a dead man walking for what he did to my woman, and to Marie, who is too fucking young to have had so much shit happen to her. 

I guess when it comes down to it, I stay 'cos I want to. I used to think I only stayed 'cos of Hels… I dragged my ass back from Canada just to see her. I kinda had one of those moments where everything's clear and you suddenly realise what a goddamn dick you've been – though try repeating that, bub, and I'll kick your ass so hard your kids'll be born bruised. I'm still not sure if I believe in Chuck's philosophy. Hels does, though sometimes she's gotta work hard at it when we get another abused kid come in who's been beaten half to death for being a mutant. The war between mutants and flatscans isn't just coming, it's here. We've all gotta do our part, even loners like me. It's either that or extinction, and I ain't planning on going the way of the dodo.

Yeah, so here I am at Mutant High. I teach a few classes, tinker about with the bikes and cars, generally make myself useful about the place. I'm as settled as I'm ever gonna be. Me and Hel's still take off a few times a year, leave cellphones and laptops and shit behind and wander. We've gone to the jungles in Guatemala and Venezuela, to Africa, India and Japan. There's advantages to having a billionaire like Chuck around. We have our fun while we can, 'cos the next time we go up against Magneto and his dumb fucks, we mightn't make it back. Having metal bones around the master of magnetism ain't exactly useful. 

And one day, our pasts are gonna catch up and bite us in the ass. I know it, she knows it, and so do the rest of the team. I can't remember jack beyond about eighteen years ago. I don't know how old I am, if I have family anywhere, nothing. When I look in the mirror, I see a guy who looks about thirty, the same face I've seen for almost two decades. Hels figures she's about the thirty seven mark, though she doesn't look a day over twenty five. But she's not sure. Neither of us can be sure of anything much. She's quite happy to let the Prof go rooting through her head, I guess she understands the mechanics better, being a telepath herself. I don't like it, but I'll let him just so we can get one step closer to figuring stuff out. I wanna know what happened, though I know it's gonna be bad. We're not gonna come out of it smelling of roses, but I need to know… or at least I figure I do. Sometimes Hels says she'd rather not know, in that roundabout English way she gets, says that some things are better left to rot. Sometimes, I think she's right.

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



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